tbothofthemwillknow,anddraodidn’twanttofaethat.hestandsoutsidehisroomforawhile,longenoughthatthetikingofhislokisstartingtodrivehiminsane,butthenheshiftshisweightandtheboardsreakunderhisfeetandheknowsthatitispointlesstokeepwaiting,sineharryknowsheisthereanyways.

“hey.”heknoksandthenpushesthedoortherestofthewayopen,hesitatinginthedoorway.“doyoustillwantto…”

hetrailsoff,andharrygresathim.hishairisevenmessierthanusual.drao,ontheotherhand,looksevenmoreputtogether.

“shutup.”hethrowsthebsinwhatwasprobablymeanttobeasignofwelomebutwasreallyjustangrylooking.“getoverhere.”

draodoesn’targue,justrossestheroomandthenrawlsintobed,andthenstartstheroutineofountingharry’sbreathsuntilheanfasleep.butthatdoesn’twork,beauseharryisangryanddraoantell,sohepunhesthepillowftandliesonhisbaktofollowtheraksuttingaparttheeilinglikeaspiderweb,hopingthatmightwork,too.

itdoesn’t.

there’sapapersittingonthenightstand,henoties.it’sdark,butheanstillmakeouttheheadlineinglowingprintandheknowsthatharrymusthavebeenreadingtheirartileupuntilthemomentthathehearddraooutsidethedoor.“isitbeauseofme?”

hehadn’tmeanttotalkaboutit.hedidn’twanttomakethingsbadforeitherofthem.hedidn’twantazkaban,didn’twantthisfinalsignthathewasnevergoingtoreahredemption.drao’slearnedthatifharrygivesuponyou,thenmaybeyouaren’tworthsaving.

“what?”